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As a compliment to my previous post, I’d like to dive into my actual experience in the gay bar bathroom. A lot of the stuff on this site is embellished or exaggerated accounts of events in my real life; I actually went to a gay bar last weekend and actually did go to the bathroom and actually did see a guy adjusting his boner in the mirror.

That being said, the opinions I’m about to vomit are from the real me. The events and persons depicted are equally as valid.

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I was sitting in a small metal seat, which I was sharing with a friend. On stage was a female entertainer who used to be just a male regular person. She was dressed in a form-fitting sequin gown. They called her Asia. I’m not sure why–she was black–but who knows. Maybe she was good at karate or something.

She was lip syncing to an old Motown hit, dancing slowly and seductively. The name of that eludes me at the moment. About a minute and a half into her song, I had to use the restroom. The transexual entertainer and my desire to go to a restroom are completely unrelated.

I pass through the crowd that has formed around the stage. It’s full of young men and old men. There are several women in attendance as well. I reach the restroom and pass through the door. This is where my study begins.

Peeking

Straight Rule: No peeking.

Gay Bar Rule: Yea, okay, check out my junk.

A few seconds after I stepped up to the urinal, a man stepped next to me (Rule on urinal selection to come later) and began urinating. I immediately realized that to this guy, me standing here was the equivalent of me standing directly next to an attractive woman while she pees.

Restrooms are, in most establishments, set up to keep the sexes separate. We are separated under the notion that it’s improper for me to see my girlfriend pee or wash her hands or sit down and act like she’s going to poop, only to stand up a moment later, laughing loudly at the notion of a woman defecating. The sexes are also separated due to fear of lewd or lascivious behavior.

In the gay bar, though, the setup is the opposite. All the patrons that want to bang eachother are in the same room and their genitals are all completely exposed. The guy next to me clearly looked over the barrier and looked at my junk. I didn’t get mad at him; it’d be unfair to do so, I think. This is a gay bar. This is protocol here. Right?

Urinal Selection

Straight Rule: Every man must, when possible, leave at least one urinal between himself and the man next to him.

Gay Bar Rule: Cozy on up, you kooky stranger.

This connects directly to the previous post. Isn’t that nice? There’s gotta be a joke somewhere about this section not leaving a urinal between itself and the previous section, but I don’t have to patience to figure it out (Looks like I just did.).

In a straight bathroom, you leave a urinal between yourself and the man next to you. If urinals 1, 3, and 5 are taken, you use a stall. No one uses the little kid urinal. That’s not even an option. Don’t even think about it. That’s for kids, and you don’t want your bare wiener where kids are, do you? Do you?

No. You don’t.

The guy who peeked at me sea-horse [Editor’s Note: What?] stood directly next to me. This took me aback for a moment, as there was plenty of room for him to pee elsewhere. Then, realization, I was in a gay bar. Gay dudes don’t worry about looking gay. It’s a little depressing to think about all the things straight men do to avoid being thought of as gay. The clothes we wear, music we listen to, movies and television shows we watch, the butt holes we penetrate–all these things are criteria for our relative gayness to be judged.

Giving Yourself a Fluffer

Straight Bar Rule: Usually just called “masturbating.”

Gay Bar Rule: Get that engine ready, speed demon.

Like I mentioned earlier, as I was walking out of the restroom, a man stood in the mirror and adjusted his pants to more compliment his genitals–which were very much ready for love.

In the bar I was at, people just walked by the guy. Somebody may have even offered a compliment or two. I would have told him “Your wiener sure is a funny shape. Might want to put that thing away until your partner’s too emotionally obligated to turn it down. Yah mean?” but I’m a nice guy. And I’m afraid of large, clearly-aroused African American men in track pants.

In a straight bathroom, people would just ask you to do it in a stall.

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As I close the book on my first gay bathroom experience, I look back fondly. Fondle-ee. Oh, one more thing. People called me “baby” a lot, but that was everywhere in the gay club, so I didn’t include it here. Also, I got my ass tapped as I left. I think he was making sure I had my wallet still. Gay people are helpful.